


Severance

by Thousand_Ribbons (Meridians_of_Madness)



Series: Now Meet Him Dead [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: AU-Hell Wins, Anal Sex, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Attempted Dissociation, Begging, Crying, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demon Gabriel (Good Omens), Double Anal Penetration, Good Omens Kink Meme, Hair-pulling, Inadequate Comfort, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Rape, Reverse Omens, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21818026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Thousand_Ribbons
Summary: After Hell's victory, an angelic Crowley ends up as the Demon Aziraphale's personal property to be shared as he pleases. Crowley's life is a nightmare, and Aziraphale... maybe Aziraphale doesn't care for it so much either.-Filled for the kink meme prompt locatedhere.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: Now Meet Him Dead [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914325
Comments: 12
Kudos: 268





	Severance

_No, it absolutely had to be the '33_ , Crowley decided. Had to be. '26 was good, the '26 had the longer, learner build over the first five years of production, but as far as he was concerned, the '33 had it beat by a Welsh mile. By 1933, Bentley belonged to Rolls Royce, and the engine upgrades alone would have made it worth a second look, let alone the sheer elegance of the-

Aziraphale pushed just that extra bit too hard, and Crowley choked, hands flat on the demon's hips because he had learned better than to even look like he was grabbing at Aziraphale's clothes. He braced himself for the demon to climax, but when he pulled back entirely, Crowley realized that that savage thrust had been more to get his attention than for satisfaction.

Aziraphale tapped his cheek lightly with an indulgent smile, his flat blue eyes (no pupil, no white, nothing but a stormy rutilated blue) sparkling with something that might once have been an ethereal light.

“There, dear,” he said. “That's enough of that.”

Crowley stretched out his jaw, wiping his mouth and making his own gaze as opaque as he could. It happened sometimes, somehow, that Aziraphale seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, and so far, he had managed to keep the Bentley to himself, unlike the plants or the flat in Mayfair or the gleam of the Holy City.

“Yeah?” he asked as he started to rise to his feet, but before he could straighten, Aziraphale pushed him back down to the ground. Aziraphale kept him naked, and Crowley was never more aware of it when Aziraphale tucked his own cock back into his trousers.

“Yes, but do save yourself some trouble. Stay where you are.”

“Uh, sure, I guess.”

Aziraphale patted the top of his head, friendly as ever.

Hell's victory had changed him remarkably little, Crowley eventually decided. As a matter of fact, the only thing that had changed was Crowley's point of view. Aziraphale's delighted smile, his addiction to small pleasures, and his fussiness over his appearance and his things, those all stayed the same. Somehow, he had simply never noticed the glint of merciless cold in those pretty eyes, never noticed the hedonism that never cared enough about anyone else's fun as long as he got his. Maybe some things were easier to see on your knees.

Crowley shifted on the pillow that Aziraphale had procured for him, working up his courage to ask why he was still knelt down, why Aziraphale hadn't finished. Questioning Heaven had been frowned upon, questioning Hell could be deadly, but Aziraphale... Aziraphale usually answered him.

This time, exercising that strange and strangely violating power of his, Aziraphale seemed to pluck the question right out of his head.

“Balan is coming over soon, I'm afraid. He's quite infatuated with you.”

Crowley swallowed hard, and he tried to get the whine out of his voice before he spoke. Aziraphale hated it when he whined.

“I don't... that is. Can't you...”

“No, I cannot,” Aziraphale said crossly. “He used to be an archangel, you know. Nothing much I can do when he decides to pull rank.”

Crowley knew it was true. He knew, and it still brought tears to his eyes. He hated- _hated-_ Balan, but what always hurt more was the idea he couldn't get rid of, that Aziraphale could prevent this, could stop him... and just _didn't_.

“Oh poor thing,” Aziraphale tutted. “Don't take on so. It'll be over before you know it. And here, look, I'm going to get you ready. It'll barely hurt at all, all right?”

 _Not like you would know,_ Crowley thought resentfully, but he still lifted his hips, pressing his cheek against the cool wood floor. It was a humiliating position, but it was better than letting Balan take him unprepared.

_Yeah, definitely the '33. Has to be. Could get the leather interior, by then they've got the velour, but leather's flashier, isn't it? Cooler. Just fits the whole vibe better, and of course it's got to be black..._

He drew his breath sharply as Aziraphale's thick fingers, liberally smeared with something slick and cool, pressed against his hole, stroking gently at first before starting to stretch him. He uttered a soft sob, hands fisting on the floor, and then he worked on relaxing, because if he started fighting now, it was going to be a fucking misery when Balan finally took him.

“Oh, that's good, that's my darling,” Aziraphale murmured. “Let's get you nice and relaxed, we don't want you getting hurt again, do we?”

 _No, we fucking well do not,_ Crowley thought fervently, and he ignored the low ache of shame at that even as he pressed back on Aziraphale's fingers, three now and moving inside, not easily, but slowly and smoothly.

He knew he should have been ashamed of himself, an angel riding a demon's fingers to prepare for something worse. If he still had his dignity, if he still had his pride, he would fight and spit or be coldly indifferent. It was just a corporation, after all. If they broke it, they would give him a new one. It didn't matter, not next to what he truly was.

He also knew what it was like to be left torn after Balan had his fun. He knew what it was like to beg through a scream-rasped throat, and he knew the sheer blank-minded terror of trying to clean himself and seeing blood that just would not stop running.

He tried not to know any of it. He did know that Rolls Royce knew what it was doing when it took on Bentley. They had shifted the image of the Bentley from being a flashy boy's car to something far more dignified. They made it quieter first thing, and Crowley was honestly of two minds about that, really, because-

He grunted as Aziraphale pulled his fingers away, rising at a knock on the door. There was a brief few moments of pleasantries exchanged, and then he heard Balan's heavy step behind him. Crowley didn't bother to move. He felt, not defiant, but _sulky._ If they wanted to move him, they damned well could.

“Aw, look at him,” Balan said from somewhere behind him. “Cute!”

“Well, I certainly think so,” Aziraphale said with just a bit of false modesty. Crowley hated him so much. He hated him.

“All right, champ, up you get...”

Balan didn't wait for Crowley to try to rise. Instead he came and pulled him up with a careless strength that Crowley knew would leave bruises. Crowley was tall, actually just about the same height as the demon prince, but Balan outweighed him by a fair measure. Crowley wouldn't have been a match for Balan even before Heaven lost and all the angels left were drained of their powers, and now...

“ _So_ good to see you again, honey,” Balan crooned. “I've been thinking of this for a while.”

“Would you prefer the bedroom, Balan, or-”

“Ah, no need, Aziraphale. I have that thing I need to get to down in the fourth circle. You know how it is, busy, busy...”

Crowley almost snickered when Balan took a seat on the tartan sofa, easily maneuvering Crowley to straddle his muscular thighs. Behind Balan's head, he could see Aziraphale's face at having his sofa used like this, and it was _such_ a petty pleasure to see Aziraphale discomfited in any way.

Balan took Crowley's hand in his and pressed it between his legs, making him work it until he came fully erect. Then Crowley had to pull Balan's cock out of his trousers, and fuck but the demon prince didn't do things by halves. He always went so fucking big, _why_ did he do that, why the fuck, he didn't _have_ to...

“Okay, baby, come here, let's get you started.”

_I hate you. I fucking hate you. I would tear your throat out with my fucking teeth if I could._

Instead, he rose up his knees, shifting so that the broad tip of Balan's cock was poised right at his entrance, which even after all of Aziraphale's efforts, felt woefully unprepared, pathetically tight and small. Cautiously, he bounced on the tip, letting it stretch him out a little, trying to get used to the sense of violation and wrongness, and then abruptly, it was too late.

“Oh come _on,_ princess,” Balan whined, and his hands on Crowley's narrow hips, he forced him down in one hard shove.

Crowley didn't even have the breath to scream. His breath felt like it had been punched out of him, tears started in his eyes, and his body broke into sweat. It hurt, oh blessed Heaven, it hurt _so much_ , and he had no idea why he didn't discorporate from it, except that for some reason, he was made to take more than this, made to endure, made to hang on by his fingernails to...

“Oh, there you are, precious,” Balan murmured, arching up and pushing even more firmly into Crowley's unwilling body. There was something dreamy about him now, violet eyes half shut, and a sweet smile on his handsome face.

Crowley found his breath again, and gritting his teeth so hard he wasn't quite sure he hadn't cracked one, he started to move, riding Balan's cock, tightening with what little give he had to do so, because there was not much.

He just had to get through this. It wouldn't last forever, would go faster if he could make the demon prince spill... He could go for the all-red interior, but would that just be too Lugosi for words? It might, but fuck, what was the point if he didn't? Maybe not all red, maybe black with red trim, maybe just on the gearshift...

He jumped when Balan laughed. Demons laughing was _not a good thing,_ and for a moment, he flailed, unable to overcome the urge to get under cover. Instead, Balan's heavy hands landed on his hips again, slamming him down tight to Balan's hips, and he groaned, slightly dizzy and sick with the intrusion.

“Aziraphale. You know I can feel that, right?”

Crowley blinked. Feel what?

“I am sure I do not know what you are thinking of, Prince Balan,” Aziraphale said in his most frosty tone.

“Sure you don't,” Balan chuckled. “Well, you don't have to cop to it if you don't want, but it's a little distracting, you know?”

“Well, I do beg your pardon...”

“Don't worry about it. Just come over here. I don't mind sharing, and maybe it'll take care of that attitude problem of yours. It's making the whole place smell like burned blood.”

Crowley jumped a little as Aziraphale stalked forward, coming to stand behind him. He turned to look at Aziraphale, but apparently that wasn't allowed because Aziraphale's hand tangled in his hair and pushed him flat against Balan's chest. Crowley whined, but Aziraphale didn't let him up.

It shouldn't have mattered after everything else that had happened, but it was fucking humiliating. Bent forward like this, Aziraphale could see where Balan's cock was stretching him open, and...

Crowley choked when he felt Aziraphale's fingers pressed against his stretched rim, snug against Balan's cock, and then he pressed harder, judging the give.

“Come on, Aziraphale,” Balan said. “Haven't got all day.”

“Just so,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley uttered a high-pitched panicked whine as he felt Aziraphale's cock push against his stretched hole, right alongside Balan.

Finally, Crowley found his words, and the tears that ran down his cheeks were as much humiliation as pain.

“No! Please no, no, no, Aziraphale, please, it's too much, please, don't! I can't, I can't take that, please...!”

If anything, Aziraphale's hand tightened in his hair, pressing his face hard against Balan's chest. Balan's arms came up to hold him tight, and Crowley stuttered over the sob, because it felt good, felt like he might not have to take it, but then, of course he did.

Aziraphale pushed into him with a slow and utterly unyielding force, spearing into him, spreading him, and it was too much, it was surely too much, but somehow his body opened to take Aziraphale, to allow this when Crowley was sure he would have just split first.

“Oh, fuck, that's... that's so fucking good,” growled Balan, and then, somehow, he found the clearance to push up into Crowley again. Crowley yowled, fingers clenching into the demon prince's clothing. He didn't care how loud he got or how he would be punished, he couldn't take this, he only wanted it to end, just to end, please, he needed it over and done with.

Aziraphale made a low and growling sound, and he matched Balan's rhythm, His cock was shorter than Balan's, but just as thick, and Crowley felt as if he must be being ripped open, stretched beyond what he could bear as they fucked into him.

_'33. Had to be the '33. If it wasn't, why bother._

His thoughts were in fragments, like torn pieces of paper thrown up in the air, and he couldn't catch them. All that was left to him was the violation of his body, the cocks pistoning into him, the roar of blood in his ears and the way, increasingly distant, that he could hear his own voice, pleading for mercy.

Balan came first, and then Aziraphale was just a heartbeat behind him, and Crowley groaned like a wounded animal at the liquid burning sensation they put inside him. Heaven and Hell had never worried much about fraternization when demons hurt like this.

The errant thought came _if it was just him... God, if it was only him, I might have-_

That terrible stupid thought was wiped clean out of his head when Aziraphale pulled out of him and then Balan did, his body almost resisting and trying to clench around them before they let him drop to the floor.

“He really _is_ very nice, Aziraphale. I hope you know how lucky you are.”

“Quite, Prince Balan...”

They talked for a few more moments, putting themselves to right as Crowley clung to the sofa, his fingers stroking over a rolled seam over and over again. It felt good, the rise of the stitches under his fingertips. He thought about that so he wouldn't think of words like _torn_ and _used_ and _bleeding._

At some point, Balan left, and there was Aziraphale, helping him up and taking him to the bathroom, to a tub filled with steaming water. Crowley allowed Aziraphale to help him into the water, kneeling so he wouldn't have to sit. He crossed his arms on the edge of the tub and rested his forehead on top of them. He was still crying somehow, as if he hadn't run out of tears yet, but it was a quiet and hopeless thing. The worst had already happened. Now he just needed to get into the business of living after it.

He whimpered when Aziraphale's fingers brushed against his abused hole, but the demon was gentle, washing him with a firm and kind touch. There was a cool shiver to the air, and Crowley blinked when the worst of the pain disappeared. The ache was still there, demonic healing was never as good as angelic healing used to be, but the sickened feeling of ruin was gone.

“Aziraphale...?”

Sometimes, a flicker of his powers returned, and he could feel something from the dark and hungry void that was the Demon Aziraphale. It felt... warm, and sweet, and golden, almost as if...

“No,” Aziraphale said gently. “Best not think that, all right?”

“S'pose not.”

The pain mostly gone, Crowley turned around in the tub, sinking into the water up to his chin. He knew that Aziraphale would keep it hot for him until he was ready to get out. His eyes drifted closed. He didn't need them open to know that the demon was seated on the low stool by the tub, to know that Aziraphale was watching him with those abyssal unblinking blue eyes.

“Crowley?”

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking of getting you a car.”

Crowley opened his eyes, staring at the demon who was, in fact, not looking at him. Aziraphale looked down at his own hands, picking fussily at his manicure.

“Really?”

“Yes. Oh, like a Bentley, after they were bought by Rolls Royce. I don't know much about cars, but the '33, perhaps...”

Crowley felt something thick and broken in his throat, as if he had tried to swallow a lump of jaggery sugar. It hurt, it ached, he shouldn't have done it, but oh it was sweet. He started to laugh, and eventually when that laugh turned into shattered sobs, Aziraphale stroked his hair, wordless, heartless and completely without remorse.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cosmic Violence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275859) by [boughofawillowtree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boughofawillowtree/pseuds/boughofawillowtree)




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